


If you're going to be the death of me, that's how I wanna go

by Havokftw



Series: A penny for your thoughts. Five bucks if they're dirty. [6]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Arguing, Businessman Choi Seungcheol, Car Sex, Dress Up, Fights, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protectiveness, Romance, Shopping, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Choi Seungcheol, Suit Kink, camboy Lee Jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: “Cool. Sounds like fun.” Jihoon murmurs, trying not to look too downcast.He’d been half hoping Seungcheol would invite him along.Not that it matters, really. What's the difference between fucking Seungcheol here, in the privacy of his penthouse, and being seen with him by all of Seungcheol's associates?Well, everything, actually.





	If you're going to be the death of me, that's how I wanna go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xparksjx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xparksjx/gifts).



> A very, very late Birthday present for Janna, who always cheers me up with her awesome Jicheol fanart. Thank you darling for always sharing your gift with Jicheol fam! <3
> 
> I know it's not DukeDuckCheol but I will write that for you one day!

Jihoon pulls his laptop closer and frowns at his notes, but the sounds coming from behind him are distracting: friction, panting, sloppy kisses and the rhythmic creak of the crappy dorm bed. He types in another sentence and frowns some more.

_“Yeah—yeah.”_

_“You like that?”_

Oh god. All Jihoon wants to do is stick his fingers in his ears to block out the strain in Seokmin's voice.

“Gross. Please stop.”

“Jihoon—I told you I’d have company tonight!” Seokmin yells, throwing a pillow in his general direction.

It lands at Jihoon’s feet, but he doesn’t bother glancing over at his room-mate’s bed where Seokmin and Soonyoung have been attempting to make out for the last half an hour. “And I told you I have an assignment to finish and the library is shut for repairs. I refuse to be sexiled out of here when I have important work to do.”

“Why don’t you go over to _Daddy’s_ place? Doesn’t he have an entire room reserved for you now?” Seokmin says.

There’s a measure of humour in the words, and when Jihoon looks back, Seokmin is sharing a look of amusement with Soonyoung, like it’s a joke.

“He _does_?” Soonyoung pipes in inquisitively.

Seokmin sits up straight in the bed and smiles broadly, “Yeah. He’s got this _huge_ penthouse in this new skyscraper. And a room, just for Jihoon, decked out with everything he’ll ever need. It’s really sweet—but Jihoonie’s too _shy_ to use it.”

Jihoon rubs his temples with resignation and turns to his desk grimly.

He has the beginnings of a headache and he’s getting tired of having to explain. “I’m not _shy_. I just don’t want to abuse his hospitality and show up whenever I _feel_ like it.”

Seokmin scoffs. “Why not? He said it was _your_ room, didn’t he?”

“Yeah—but—it’s not just for me to chill in. It’s for sex stuff. I film there and do sexy things.” Jihoon says, though he knows that’s not _entirely_ true.

When Seungcheol had first moved in, he had insisted that the room was for Jihoon’s personal use, _whatever_ he deemed that may be. It was _Jihoon_ who had set the conditions on it’s use, because he didn’t want to infringe on Seungcheol’s space like some pesky visitor.

Above all that, Jihoon feels a little more like a grown-up with his own space, even if there are cockroaches in the dorm that appear to be more sentient than the average insect and the walls are the exact colour of piss.

Seungcheol may be filthy rich and prepared to set him up in his own apartment, but Jihoon knows he can’t depend on him for everything. He wants to struggle a little in life; it makes him feel a little more _human_ to have to fight for things like everyone else.

Sighing, Seokmin moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “Well, if you’re not using it, can we go there? So we can finally do sexy things that _you_ keep interrupting.”

Jihoon slowly turns his head to glare at him.

“Let’s just go to mine, DK.” Soonyoung sighs, tugging on his boyfriend’s sleeve.

Jihoon turns back to his laptop and reasserts his focus as they tug on their jackets and toe on their shoes, heading out.

Quiet descends then.

The last sentence Jihoon had written really doesn't make any sense at all, and he goes back and takes another stab at it. The tap-tap of the keys sound thunderous in the stillness. Even after his edits the point still isn't very clear.

It’s just way too quiet now. He isn't used to so much silence.

How is he supposed to _think?_

Jihoon sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, realizing he’s picked the gesture up from Seungcheol. He smiles at that; he hasn’t seen Seungcheol all week, and he really misses him.  He wonders when he’s begun to need Seungcheol so much. His assurance. His presence. His _voice._

Grabbing his phone, he types out a quick message and hits send.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cheol  
  
I know you’re busy with work....  
  
But I need a place to study and my rm is being gross with his bf here. Could I come over?

He gets a reply from Seungcheol almost immediately.

 

 

 

 

 

Cheol  
  
You know you never need an invitation to come here dumpling :))  
  
I’m working on stuff too. We could be study buddies ;)

Jihoon can almost hear Seungcheol’s voice as he reads the message, and the smile that usually accompanies it. It’s like a balm to his shattered nerves. 

Permission granted; he grins, grabs up his computer and his notes and heads out.

* * *

 

As the elevator dings for the top floor and the doors swish open, the image of a man leaving Seungcheol’s apartment comes into sharp focus.

Jihoon recognises him immediately as Seungcheol’s PA, Mingyu; a decent guy who Seungcheol often speaks fondly of, like a younger brother.

Mingyu’s pulling the door shut behind him, heading for the elevator, but when he sees Jihoon approaching he pauses mid-step.

He looks at Jihoon for a minute without saying anything, assessing. Then he _grins_ , a slow stretch of lips that seems to slide indecently across his face.

“What? No pizza this time?”

This does not, in Jihoon's opinion, deserve an answer, so he fishes out his spare key and steps around the man towards the front door.

He startles when Mingyu moves quickly, insinuating himself between Jihoon and the door, a curious look on his face.

“You know—I almost didn’t recognise you when you barged into Seungcheol’s office wearing that pizza delivery boy outfit. But now that I look at you in person—the resemblance is _unmistakable_. _You’re Busan Kitten.”_

Jihoon’s ears burn, but he doesn't deny it. “You watch my streams?”

For a second, mortification flashes across Mingyu’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh yeah, all the time. You’re very--" He drags his gaze across Jihoon's body, lingering somewhere around his crotch. "-- _talented_."

Jihoon glares at him.

Mingyu isn’t deterred by the look. He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, even as he says, “I’m a big fan, by the way. Your live streams are the best.”

Jihoon reigns in an eye roll. “Cool. Thanks. Always nice to meet _fans_.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem to have anything more to say to that.

Jihoon looks away, busying himself with finding the right key, and when he glances up again, Mingyu is still staring at him.

His expression is friendly enough, but he isn't bothering to hide that underneath there is wariness, even a hint of hostility. The dirty looks, the ones that make his skin crawl he can deal with. It isn't anything he hasn't experienced before. But Mingyu is looking at him like he's finally realised Jihoon is a real person or something, and it’s just weird.

“What now?” Jihoon snaps, giving up his focus on the door. “Trying to picture me nak-“

“Does Seungcheol know?” Mingyu interrupts suddenly, brow creased.

Jihoon’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Quickly glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, Mingyu drops his voice into a lower register. “Does he know— _what you do?”_

“Of course he knows!” Jihoon snaps, hands coming to rest on his hips. “How do you think we _met_?”

He gets a smirk for that.

“Wow.” Mingyu says, nodding. Strangely, his defensive expression softens into something like fondness. He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Well, you can thank me for that by the way. I’m the one who introduced him to the website in the first place.”

Jihoon raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yup.” Mingyu says, with an absurdly proud smile. “I’ve been an avid watcher for some time now. Your videos really help me unwind after work.”

“Oh, really? What’s your username?”

“TallBoy24.”

Now it’s Jihoon's turn to smile. “Awesome—I’m absolutely going to block you.”

Mingyu’s smile slips slightly, but he seems determined to keep it up. “Wha—why would you do that?”

“Because—I don’t want you watching me. Pervert”

This time Mingyu's mouth flattens into a thin line. “But thousands of people watch you all the time!”

“But I never meet them in person. Now it’s weird because you know me _away_ from the camera. I don’t like someone knowing me in real life, knowing that _other_ part of my life.”

Mingyu throws his hands in the air.  “What about Seungcheol? He knows real you and camera you.”

“Seungcheol’s different. He’s _allowed_. You’re not. So, stop watching me creep.”

“Fine.” Mingyu snorts, eyes narrowing even as a smile takes shape. “Block me. I’ll just make another account and watch you _anyway_.”

“I’ll block that account too.”

“Not if you don’t know my username.”

The glare at each other until Jihoon hears the door open, revealing a puzzled looking Seungcheol standing just on the other side.

“I thought I heard voices out here—eh,” He pauses, glancing between them. “What’s going on?”

At which point Jihoon turns to him and says. “Cheol—Mingyu knows I’m a camboy, and he says he’s going to watch me touch myself on camera later, even though I told him not to.”

“Did he now.” Seungcheol drawls, giving a slack-jawed Mingyu a particularly _unimpressed_ eyebrow.

Jihoon thinks he can _actually_ pinpoint the moment when Mingyu’s balls retreat back into his body.  

“But—but,” Mingyu makes a sputtering sound, “I was the one who introduced you to that website Hyung. I’ve been watching him for ages.” He protests, wincing when Seungcheol shoots him a _look_.

“Mingyu—I’m very grateful that you introduced me to that website. But I would very much appreciate it if you _didn’t_ watch my precious dumpling anymore.” Seungcheol says, voice perfectly calm.

 _Frighteningly_ calm, actually.

Jihoon suspects it’s the tone of voice reserved for a select unfortunate few who are about to have the full fury of Choi Seungcheol unleashed upon them.

Mingyu swallows nervously and nods. “Yes, of course Hyung.”

Then he runs away.  

No exaggeration—he’s actually falling over himself he can’t get away fast enough.

Jihoon watches Mingyu scramble for the elevator and turns to Seungcheol, a small smile on his face. “Could you maybe scare the shit out of my professors too?”

Seungcheol chuckles and ushers him into the apartment.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon stands awkwardly just inside the door, backpack still on his shoulders as he takes in the scene.

Usually Seungcheol holes up in his study when he brings work home with him, but tonight he's decided to spread his work out on the coffee table in the living area. Music wafts softly from the stereo speakers. Jihoon distantly recognizes it as Mac DeMarco’s _‘[Still beating](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlewX-2KguI)’_.

Although Seungcheol has pretty much invited him over, Jihoon can’t help but feel like his presence is an intrusion.

He doesn’t want to feel like an intrusion.

"I’ll—go set up in my room," Jihoon tells him, shuffling towards the corridor.

Seungcheol waves him off. "Don't be ridiculous, dumpling. I think we can manage to share the living room. This is your place too, after all."

Jihoon’s cheeks burn. That shouldn't have made him just _ridiculously_ pleased. It really shouldn't at all.

He decides to stake out a spot on the sofa, conveniently near an electrical outlet as his laptop's acting up more than usual. He pulls his notes out, takes a breath, lets it out, and stares at the screen. No more distracting silence, although he still finds his gaze straying away every few seconds.

Seungcheol's sitting a few feet away from him. His face takes on a more angular quality when he’s focused, his full lips purse in concentration, which just—okay, you'd have to be dead not to want to stare at that. He absently chews on the cap of his pen, which Jihoon would have found gross under most other circumstances, but is totally enthralled by in the current situation. Seungcheol has rolled back the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing strong forearms, and whenever he turns the pages of his report, the muscles bunch and flex. When he shifts in his chair, the fabric of his trousers stretch tightly across his thighs.

 _Fuck_ , Jihoon needs to stop looking.

He _really_ is here to work, not _moon_ over his sugar daddy.

He snatches his gaze away and reattaches it to his computer screen. After a while he starts actually paying attention to what he is doing, and Seungcheol fades to a comfortable background presence. Such is the power of assignment deadlines.

Jihoon is in the middle of what he considers to be a rather impressive paragraph of utter bullshit when the computer screen flickers and turns black.

"Fuck!" Jihoon spits out before he can stop himself.

Seungcheol looks over; it’s obvious he’s trying not to smile. "Is your genius tormenting you, Jihoon?"

"No," Jihoon grumbles. "My piece of shit computer is." He jiggles the power cord, taking his life in his hands. He's had the thing since forever, and it’s more of an electrocution hazard than an actually useful computing device by this point.

Seungcheol comes over to inspect the trouble, disappears, and returns with a roll of duct tape. "The universal cure for everything." He smiles slyly.

Jihoon laughs and lets Seungcheol perform minor surgery on the power cord. He hates his stupid, piece of shit computer a little bit less for giving him the opportunity to watch Seungcheol's big, capable hands at work.

"Hoonie." Seungcheol says, after a few minutes of wrangling with the device. “How _old_ is this thing?”

Jihoon glances over to where Seungcheol is gazing at the laptop with an adorably perplexed frown on his face.

“Uhm—I dunno.” He mumbles, chewing on his lip. “I think I got it for my birthday one year.”

Seungcheol casts a sidelong glance Jihoon's way. "What? Like a _decade_ ago?”

“ _No_.” Jihoon huffs.

Yeah— _okay_. So maybe it’s a really old laptop, and maybe it actually belonged to his dad once upon a time. It’s some off-brand beast that weighs about twelve pounds and has square corners and a raked eighties-style relief design on the top. In comparison to Seungcheol’s, slick, modern laptop— _of course_ it’s going to look old.

Seungcheol gives him a wary look, sets the laptop down on the coffee table, then opens the machine.

"Wow,” he says. "Okay, uh. Wow. You’ve got some interesting settings here. Did you mean for the contrast to be like that?”

Jihoon looks over her shoulder. "Whaddya mean? It’s always been like that.”

Seungcheol quirks a brow and jiggles the cursor. "Really? Jesus—it’s so slow—why is it so—”

Then Seungcheol’s eyebrows hit the roof.

“Windows fucking vista!” He gasps, sounding as if Jihoon had sinned against nature. “What the fuck!”

"So?” Jihoon says, succinctly. At Seungcheol’s exasperated look, he adds, "What’s wrong with it? It works fine.”

Seungcheol starts to click, shaking his head. “I was using Windows Vista when _I_ was in college, Jihoon. Windows Vista is fucking shit. And did you know you have all these applications running? Where did you get these? What  _is_  that?” He leans close, frowning. "Why do you have so many browser icons? Oh my god, Netscape  _Navigator_?”

“Just ignore that—it doesn’t work.” Jihoon says, trying to pry the laptop back.

Seungcheol bats his hands away. “Yeah, but why is it even installed in the first place? It’s defunct. It’s been out of operation for _years_. In fact—I’m pretty sure it’s almost as old as _you_ are.”

Jihoon sighs and slumps back against the couch. “Okay, look—it was my dad’s old work laptop. I needed one for school and my parents couldn’t afford to buy me a new one, so I inherited this. I know it’s not cutting-edge technology, but it’s done me fine till now.”

The corner of Seungcheol's mouth quirks up, but his forehead creases, as if he can't quite decide whether to be amused or concerned at this confession. He sets the laptop down on the coffee table and braces a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder.

“Jihoon—I know this is going to be hard for you. But you’re _going_ to have to stop using this laptop and join the 21 st century. Your sanity will thank you for it.”

Jihoon pouts.

“Oh, god.” Seungcheol groans, then jumps up from the couch abruptly, shaking his head. “Nope. No. I can’t. Sorry Jihoon. You _know_ I can’t handle the pouting.”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon’s so engrossed with his assignment, he doesn’t notice Seungcheol’s gone till the front door swings open and he comes back into the apartment, lugging a plastic bag from Apple.

“What the….I didn’t even realise you’d left.” Jihoon tells him.

“Of course not—you were so busy typing one word an hour with Windows Vista on your virus Museum of a laptop.” Seungcheol laughs, taking the bag to Jihoon and putting it on the floor at his feet. He leans down and produces a rectangular box from inside, setting it on Jihoon’s lap.

“I have one, I like it, and I think you’ll like it too. It’s the _wave of the future_ —apparently.” Seungcheol says dryly.

Jihoon’s mouth falls open as he takes tentative possession of the box. "It's—"

A Macbook Pro.

The laptop of his dreams.

Jihoon gapes some more.

“Oh, don't be like that—it’s just a laptop." Seungcheol adds at Jihoon's alarmed expression. “You need a reliable laptop for College, and when I told the ‘Genius’ at the store what you were studying, he recommended this model in particular.”

“But— you just…. went out and bought me a new laptop.” Jihoon murmurs.

 “Well—if I know you at all, and I think I do, you would have soldiered on using your old one till it set the dorm on fire. And maybe even after that too. So, since I can’t trust you to spend lavishly on yourself, I’m going to have to do it for you.”

A thought passes fleetingly through his head that this is too much, that he really shouldn't let Seungcheol be so extravagant, but he doesn't say it out loud. Because who is he kidding? He wants to hug the computer to his chest and never let go. It will have to be pried from his cold, dead fingers.

"Go on then. Open it," Seungcheol encourages, smiling as if he understands perfectly well that Jihoon is having  _feelings_  for his new Mac.

Jihoon carefully opens the box and slides the computer out and stares even harder than before. It’s a wonder his eyes don't actually pop out of his head. The MacBook is so _shiny_.

Apparently he says this out loud because Seungcheol laughs. "I'm glad you approve, dumpling."

Jihoon glances up at him. “You shouldn’t have, Cheol. Uh—I mean, you didn’t _have_ to. I don’t expect you to buy my gifts.” He says, protest belied by the reverence with which he cradles the MacBook to his chest.

“Of course I did. What else am I here for.” Seungcheol winks, ruffling Jihoon’s hair fondly.

Jihoon smiles and stares down at the laptop, a strange sense of disappointment gnawing at his stomach.

* * *

 

Jihoon spots the suit when he’s getting ready for bed. Seungcheol's wardrobe is always immaculate, with neatly folded clothes and designer suits arranged according to colour and designer.

Jihoon’s never had a reason to pry, but tonight there’s a tuxedo hanging at the front of the wardrobe, blocking the view of the mirror and Jihoon can’t help but _stare_.

It’s a _fucking awesome_ tux.

Curious, Jihoon reaches for it, touching the jacket in a way that he refuses to think of as  _caressing_. He runs his hands over the shirt, the buttons, the lapels and the pants greedily.

He has to go back to the shirt almost immediately, though. "Soft," he says, and if there's a dreamy note to his voice, he can't be blamed for it.

“You like it?” Seungcheol husks in his ear, suddenly right behind him, a warm, large presence.

Jihoon doesn’t bother to pretend he hasn't been fondling the suit. “Yeah. It’s uhm really— _fancy_. You throwing a party?”

Seungcheol chuckles, like Jihoon had made it sound frivolous and immature. “Not exactly. The company’s had another profitable quarter. We usually like to thank investors with a celebratory evening of dinner and champagne. Yanno, butter them up.”

Jihoon stares at him blankly. “So— _a party?”_

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” Seungcheol snorts.

“Cool. Sounds like fun.” Jihoon murmurs, trying not to look too downcast.

He’d been half hoping Seungcheol would invite him along. Not that it matters, really. What's the difference between fucking Seungcheol here, in the privacy of his penthouse, and being seen with him by all of Seungcheol's associates?

Well, everything, actually.

It’s a sign of trust—introducing Jihoon to his work colleagues—a sign of their relationship becoming a little more _serious_.

But, clearly they’re not in that place yet.

Jihoon feels Seungcheol looking at him and turns to meet his eyes.

“I’m glad you think so—” Seungcheol is saying, the look in his eyes soft, unguarded. Then he smiles, a brief quirk of lips. “Cause I was going to ask you to come with me, I just didn’t know how to go about it.”

Jihoon brightens. “Really?”

Seungcheol nods, hands slipping into his pockets. “Yeah. It’s next Thursday. I know that’s when you have your shift at the coffee shop, but I thought If you could switch it—you could _come with me?_ You can say no—I understand if it’s too short notice. But I always find these parties really dull and—it would be nice to have something beautiful to look at it.”

Jihoon blushes to the roots of his hair. “I can ask Jeonghan to swap with me. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Seungcheol’s eye light up. “Great. The dress code is Black tie,” He says, walking over to the bureau to rifle through the clutter there. He pauses, then glances over his shoulder with a speculative look. “You _do_ know what the means, _right_?”

“Yes, I know what that means! I’m not completely uncultured.” Jihoon snaps, placing his hands on his hips. “I might have to do a bit of shopping though. I….don’t actually _own_ a suit.”

Seungcheol grins, like he thought as much. “Ah—well, no sweat. I’ve got you covered.” He says, crossing the room and handing Jihoon a black, American Express card.

“What’s this for?” Jihoon says, examining the shiny black tint of the plastic, “I don’t need this. You already put a lot of money in my account.”

“Yeah, but that money is for _you_ to spend on _yourself_. I don’t expect you to spend it on a suit for a function _I’m_ asking you to attend. And I thought _while_ you were shopping, you could pick up a few different suits—for _future_ events. There’s plenty of boutiques in the area, but I can forward you on some places I shop in.”

Jihoon likes the idea of a suit, the look of it, always has. The feel of soft, high-quality fabric beneath his hands make him happy in a quiet, intense way. But out of Seungcheol’s social sphere—he has no use for one. He’s still a college student who lives in his hoodies and forking out money on expensive suits seems like such a waste.

“If I need more than one suit, and I’m only going to be wearing them for a few hours at a time, I could just hire.”

“Hire?” Seungcheol echoes incredulously.

Then he proceeds to laugh greatly at this. And not just a joyous chuckle, Seungcheol’s really getting into it—throwing his head back and everything—until he notices Jihoon’s quiet, blank expression and immediately stifles himself. “Oh…. you were being serious.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “What’s wrong with hiring?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Seungcheol shrugs, but there’s no apology in his tone. “It’s just hiring is uhm…..not a concept I’m _familiar_ with. Besides the boutiques offer in house tailoring and I figured you’d struggle to buy off the rack.”

Jihoon ignores the first, and in his humble opinion, _snobbish_ part of that comment, to fixate on the second. “What do you mean? Why would I struggle to buy off the rack exactly?”

“Because you have—discerning taste?” Seungcheol offers, scratching the back of his neck and not quite looking at Jihoon. 

Jihoon has a funny feeling that he knows exactly what Seungcheol isn’t saying.

“It’s because I’m small—isn’t it?” He suggests, catching on.

Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek, a smile fighting its way across his features.  “Well—now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything that isn’t _oversized_.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes and crosses his arms defensively.

He knows that despite his best efforts, most of his clothes drape off him—but there’s no need for Seungcheol to be a dick about it. It's not like Jihoon fails to understand the concept of clothes  _fitting_ —but if it’s a toss up between an oversized T-shirt and shopping in the children’s section—he’s going to pick the least humiliating option, thank you very much.   

“Fine. I’ll buy a suit. I’ll be a real fancy one. I hope there isn’t a stringent limit on your card because I plan on spending a lot of money.” Jihoon goads.

“Good. I hope so.” Seungcheol says, deliberately missing the point. 

“I’m going to buy ridiculous accessories too. Like a monocle, and a top-hat, and a tie pin worth 100 bucks!” Jihoon adds with a glare, as if Seungcheol isn’t wearing a tie pin that costs ten times as much.

“Sounds like you’re angling to look like Mr Pringle. Either way—you’ll look adorable I’m sure.” Seungcheol laughs, then presses a kiss to Jihoon’s cheek before he leaves the room practically skipping.

* * *

 

Jihoon steps inside Dior, feeling absurdly out of place among all the sleek glass and polished steel in his converse and college hoodie.  

The store is huge, and to Jihoon's estimate, nothing in it costs less than an average man’s monthly earnings. Not even the belts. Jihoon looks at a price sticker, winces and thinks,  _make that_ especially _not the belts_.

Before he can give running away any real consideration, a woman walks out and says, “Hello, can I help you?”

She’s wearing a cream-colored dress that moves delicately, fluid between the air and her as she walks. Jihoon feels like he should be paying her money—just to _look_ at her.

“Hi—yes. I’d like to buy a suit.” Jihoon begins rather awkwardly. He pulls out the car Seungcheol gave him and holds it out. “I have money.”

The woman glances down at the card and quirks a brow. “You’re Mr Choi?”

“Yes. No. I’m not Mr Choi. I’m his— _friend_. That’s not my card, or my money—It’s Mr Choi’s. He gave me the card—to buy a fancy suit. Can I buy a fancy suit?”

The woman raises the second brow at him and smiles. “Please take a seat, Sir. I’ll be just one moment.” She says, before disappearing out the back.

Jihoon takes a seat on one of the plush couches lining the wall. Ten minutes later—a man is standing there, tall and tidy in a neat blue suit, with three colossal security guards flanking him.

“I’m going to have to ask you to come with me sir.” The man says.

His badge reads ‘Head of Security’, which when Jihoon thinks about it was— _Inevitable_.

Could he have delivered a more shadier introduction?

Yes, but only if he had been holding a _gun_.

“Okay, I know how this looks—but I didn’t actually steal that card.” Jihoon starts, trying to find a way to sound less unhinged so he doesn’t get tasered or something. “Mr Choi gave it to me—to buy a fancy suit.”

The man stares at him. Jihoon tries to smile encouragingly, but he feels it is perhaps more of a cringe. Whatever his expression is, it makes the man’s face turn doubtful, and he crosses his arms over his chest, mouth twisting.

“Why don’t you come with me and we can sort this out.” The man says, looming over him.

Jihoon tries to explain himself several times, but the men just exchange unimpressed glances with each other. When one of them pulls out a pair of handcuffs—Jihoon can feel the first surge of tears.

* * *

 

Lock up is just as frightening as Jihoon’s imagined it.

Not that he’s even imagined being in jail before, and certainly not for credit card fraud. When they booked him in, he was allowed to make one phone-call, but seeing as his phone was confiscated and the only number he had memorised was his parent’s home telephone (and there’s no way in hell he’ll be calling them to rail against his captivity) he wasted his call on a failed Domino’s pizza order.

They don’t deliver to prison cells— _apparently_.

So now he’s stuck until they process him, with the dim hope that they’ll contact Seungcheol at some point. There’s ten other men in the cell with him, from big hulking brutes to lecherous weirdos, all waiting to be processed too.

The worst thing about captivity is the tedium. 

A few of the men are sharing out cigarettes, which Jihoon turns his nose up at; one has taken to doing push-ups to alleviate the boredom and another is playing the fucking harmonica. Out of tune.

The cliché of it all is the most painful thing.

Jihoon isn't happy about it, to put it mildly.

“What are you in for?” The man sitting closest to Jihoon asks.

Unlike the other thugs in here, he looks perfectly normal. Then again Jihoon supposes anyone could look normal if they tried hard enough. Even a man who poisons his family’s dinner with arsenic!

Regardless, it’s probably best that Jihoon answers him.

It would be _rude_ not to, and potentially life threatening.

“I wanted to buy a fancy suit.” Jihoon explains at length.  

“Me too kid. Me too.” The man sighs, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I wanted to buy a fancy suit too—after I killed my good for nothing cheatin wife!”

 _I knew it_ —Jihoon thinks, raising an eyebrow at the complete non sequitur. 

He tries to surreptitiously shuffle along the bench and away from Crazy, and ends up shuffling right into another man’s space.

“Oh, s-sorry.” Jihoon murmurs when he accidentally nudges the man with his shoulder.

The man shoots him a crazy look; left eye twitching dangerously.

“I had lots of fancy suits—” Twitchy speaks up, hands shaking from where he’s wrung them together. “But I lost them all to _drugs_.”

Just as Jihoon opens his mouth to reply, about how drugs are bad, another inmate pipes in.

“I like to set fire to fancy suits.” Says a tall guy with three teeth missing.

Jihoon would like to say something to that too, but he’s distracted by how Toothless is fiddling with a lighter in his hands.

And isn’t that just _awesome_.

Jihoon had his chewing gum confiscated, but the arsonist got to keep his lighter?

How’s that fair?

“I had fanciest fancy suit you’d ever seen—but it got taken away from me by the man. I’ll get it back—if it’s the last thing I do.” Another guy says. He smiles with dumb violence, his eyes dead like a doll’s.

Jihoon frowns at all of them. “I think you all mean some kind of metaphorical fancy suit. I literally mean I wanted to buy a fancy suit. But the store owner called the police cause she thought the card was stolen.”

They all shoot him curious looks, but don’t comment. The dude with the harmonica starts playing again.

“It’s okay kid. We understand.” Crazy says, patting him on the shoulder consolingly.

Jihoon refrains from rolling his eyes, which is the best he can do under the circumstances.

“I really don’t think you do. And put out that cigarette—don’t you know smoking is bad for you!”

* * *

 

Seungcheol closes his cell phone with a reluctant swipe.

Still no answer from Jihoon.

Seungcheol’s day had been full of stock reports, harried phone calls, and a lengthy attempt at trying to break Jihoon's high score on flappy bird. But he’d been at a meeting trying to strengthen the company’s Japanese holdings when Jihoon rang, so he couldn’t answer his call at the time.

And although Seungcheol doesn’t make a habit of taking personal calls during work time, sometimes it’s nice to take a break.

It’s even nicer to turn to a sea of dark suits and say importantly, “I have to take this call,” and spend the next five minutes pacing the hallway listening to what Jihoon’s prof wrote on his paper or explaining yet again how to make an authentic Roman toga in three easy steps.

There’d been a few messages, taken by his secretary to call Jihoon back immediately, but now that Seungcheol’s free, his little dumpling isn’t answering.

Worse yet, Jihoon’s phone seems to be switched off.

It leaves Seungcheol with feeling of unease, because Jihoon’s phone is tethered to him like a lifeline, always present, always on.

The only time he ever switches it off is when he’s purposefully ignoring someone. That someone being Seungcheol, _of course._

“Mr Choi—there’s a call for you on line one.”

The sound of his secretaries’ voice cuts through Seungcheol’s thoughts, and he sits up straighter and reaches for the handset. “Is it Jihoon?”

“Uh—No. It’s from your bank—regarding some _suspicious activity_.”

Seungcheol frowns at the receiver, which flashes with the waiting call.

_What the fuck?_

He presses the button to patch the call through, and answers, “Hello, Mr Choi speaking."

“Hello Mr Choi, I’m Soonmi from the fraud prevention department. This is just a curtesy call to inform you that the Busan Police department have apprehended a young man in possession of your bank card today. No funds have been withdrawn and we’ll be shipping out a replacement card within the next 24 hours.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol says, slumping back in his chair and scratching his chin. “Fine, thank you for informing me. I hadn’t even noticed it was miss--”

Seungcheol tenses, feeling all the colour drain from his face. 

“OH SHIT!”

* * *

 

The Busan police station is a good thirty-minute drive away—Seungcheol makes it in fifteen.

The arresting officer laughs nervously as he leads him through the narrow corridors towards the cell block. “When someone gets caught with a someone else’s card—it’s almost always because they’ve stolen it. This is the first time in my career where—”

“Can we _please_ hurry?” Seungcheol interrupts, careful not to show his irritation.

The officer favours him with a smile. “Yes, yes—of course.”

Seungcheol knows he’s going to be in deep shit with Jihoon over this. But the thought of his little dumpling, in lock up with all those crooks and criminals is breaking his heart.

Jihoon’s a tough little thing, but he’s probably distressed, terrified, traumatised from being in a confined space with the scum of the—

“And that’s why second-hand smoke is just as bad as smoking the cigarette yourself.” Jihoon is saying as they arrive at the holding cell.

He’s standing in the middle of the cell, hands resting on his hips as he addresses the other detainees.

Alarmingly, they _all_ seem to be paying attention to him.

“I never knew that.” Says one shady looking man, who immediately stubs out his cigarette.

“Well now you do, so there’s no excuse to keep smoking.” Jihoon says, a proud smile on his face. “Say no to cigarettes. And for the love of god—stop playing that goddamn harmonica!”.

Seungcheol turns his attention to the arresting officer. “Can you get him out of there. Before he starts making friends.”

* * *

 

Even though he’s angry with Seungcheol, Jihoon doesn’t yell the minute they exit the station. Nor does he stop Seungcheol bestowing a hundred little kisses on his head as he herds him towards his parked car.

He manages to keep his irritation bottled up as the car pulls away from the station, glowering through the windshield—and giving monosyllabic answers to Seungcheol’s questions.

“I’m so sorry, dumpling. I never thought this would happen.” Seungcheol says, coming to a stop at a red light. His fingers tap idly against the steering wheel. “But hey—at least you got a cool story to share from the whole experience. It’s not every day you get thrown in _jail_.” He laughs.

Jihoon can’t believe he thinks this is _funny_.

Seungcheol is laughing. Granted, it’s sort of weak and not really aimed at Jihoon, but still, laughing. The bastard.

Jihoon’s expression holds rigid as he tilts his head to meet Seungcheol's eyes.

“It’s not funny, Seungcheol. That was the most humiliating experience I ever had.” Jihoon cuts himself off, pushing his hands further under his arms, breathing through his anger. “It was bad enough that the woman at that store looked at me like I was trash, but then she called the cops, and they arrested me and there were people watching me get dragged into the back of a police car.” He bites out as the lights switched to green and they are moving again.

Seungcheol looks appropriately chastised. “You’re right. It’s not funny. I’m so sorry--”

“So you should be.” Jihoon interjects gruffly. “It’s all your fault. This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so— _stuck up.”_

He's prepared to face another round of Seungcheol's heartfelt protestations, but Seungcheol slams the breaks on and blinks at him instead, looking almost surprised.

 _“Stuck up?_ You think I’m—stuck up?”

Jihoon tilts his head and thinks. He’d used the word, because it's honestly the first thing that came into his head, but now that he’s thinking about it—some of it rings true.

“You laughed at me when I suggested I hire a suit. You said I couldn’t buy off the rack and that I _had_ to have a bespoke, tailor made suit. I wouldn’t have been put in that situation if you didn’t think I was too cheap to be seen on your arm.” he says, and he can't help a little bitterness.

Seungcheol breathes a wounded sort of laugh. “Woah, woah, woah. Dial that back a second. When have I _ever_ said that?”

Jihoon shrugs awkwardly. This is going nothing like the plan he’d outlined when he was waiting in the prison cell. Damn Seungcheol for turning his emotions upside-down with every look, every touch.

“That’s what this is about— _isn’t it?_ Can’t have your super rich _business_ friends see your working-class arm candy. You probably weren’t going to invite me at all—but couldn’t come up with a good reason not to after I saw your tux.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw around whatever pithy comeback sprang to mind, his face turning blank in a way that means he is probably either offended or angry.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Seungcheol snaps, and it's harsh enough Jihoon leans back in surprise.

“I was so excited about you coming with me, and I have _never_ once called you cheap or working class. But, by all means, ignore every bloody thing you know about me and how I feel about you, because it's so much more fetching to act like a bull-headed teenager whose feelings have been hurt. Just know this Jihoon—I wanted to buy you a suit, I wanted to spend money on you—because I _enjoy_ doing that. Because I _like_ spoiling you—not because I need to upgrade you to fit into my lifestyle. I was a struggling university student too once, I know what it’s like and I wanted to make it a little easier on you by treating you with gifts. I’m sorry you had a shitty day, I’m sorry I didn’t think someone would be suspicious of you having my card—but you can’t throw my generosity back in my face and call it something it isn’t. This isn’t about me being insecure about _you_ —it’s about _you_ being insecure about yourself.”

Jihoon blinks, stung.

Yes, it seems Seungcheol knows him entirely too well. It would’ve made him happy if it hadn’t hurt so much. Everything from Seungcheol’s spread hands to his patient expression is disgustingly reasonable, and Jihoon hates feeling like this, on the edge of control, a step away from falling.

“Fuck this! Fuck you and fuck your fancy party.” Jihoon yells, yanking off his seat belt and kicking the passenger door open.

He bolts from the car, batting Seungcheol’s hand away from where he’s trying to calm him and starts tearing down the sidewalk in (what he’ll admit to later as petulant) rage **.**

If Jihoon had had more than a second to think about it, he probably would have realised that storming out of the car miles away from his dorm wasn’t the best idea. In fact—he has no idea where he is right now.

He manages a block before he hears the sound of his name yelled in time with a horn blare.

“Jihoon!”

Jihoon doesn’t stop.

Whatever Seungcheol has to say, he doesn't want to hear it.

He picks up his pace, shoving his hands in his pockets as he lengthens his strides.  

Seungcheol of course, is _resilient_ , and soon enough Jihoon is aware of his car matching his speed as it cruises alongside the curb.

“ _Hoonie_.” Seungcheol sing songs.

Jihoon stops and turns and scowls as he sees Seungcheol leaning to peer at him through the open window. The car is currently halted mid-road, fortunately with only one car behind for the moment.

“Where the hell are you going pet?” Seungcheol calls out, frowning.

“ _Home_.” Jihoon spits.

The corners of Seungcheol's mouth twitch upward. “Okay. But you’re walking in the wrong direction.”

Jihoon shoots an unconvincing glare in Seungcheol's direction. “No, I’m not!” He yells back, although he’s almost certain that he is.

There’s a honk of aggravation as a car behind Seungcheol has to manoeuvre around him. The cars in the left lane let loose a volley of honks too as the driver cuts them off. Seungcheol doesn’t even look over. He just shakes his head, long suffering, and shoves the passenger door wide.

“Be angry with me all you want, but just get back in the car dumpling.”

Jihoon feels himself shake his head dumbly, eyes on the rows of cars now drawing up behind Seungcheol.

Seungcheol leans further forward, his voice low but somehow audible over the sound of traffic.

“It’s not safe for you to be walking out here alone. Get in, and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. We don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to apologise for being a brat.”

“Apologize?” Jihoon echoes incredulously. “Fat chance. I have _nothing_ to apologize for, so you can just leave me alone. _Jerk_.”

Seungcheol sits back, something almost hurt in his eyes, his brow furrowed, and Jihoon feels his stomach fall through the floor. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” Seungcheol says, disapproving.

And then he’s gone, driving away and out of sight.

Jihoon tries to feel relieved and then he tries to feel angry and then he just tries to breathe.

* * *

 

“You’re the worst sugar-baby to ever exist. I honestly mean it.” Jeonghan tells him.

He’s laughing, when it isn't funny, at all, in the slightest.

After a horrendous shift at the coffee shop (where Jihoon had threated a customer with a toffee muffin) Jeonghan had insisted Jihoon come over to his house for dinner. Even though he was cooking, and his cooking was, frankly, _shit_.

Jihoon hadn't been able to think of a good enough reason to say no, which Jeonghan had taken as a yes. Jihoon hadn't particularly minded; in fact, free food and an opportunity to rant had seemed like a really good idea at the time. But of course Jeonghan had to go and take Seungcheol’s side.

Jihoon frowns, pushing his food around his plate. The anger that brought him here has fled, replaced by a weary sort of acceptance.

“Looks like I came to the wrong place for sympathy.”  He mutters under his breath.

“ _Sympathy_?” Jeonghan echoes with a loud snort. “Not today Jihoon, and certainly not from me. You’ll be lucky to see a _dime_ out of that man after what you said to him. You were being a total brat.”

Jihoon would be deeply offended if he didn't suspect that some of that was probably true.

He looks at his plate while he turns a guilty shade of red. “I _may_ have overreacted—but I’d had a bad day. I was thrown in a jail cell for crying out loud.”

Jisoo nods very carefully. “Maybe this is a sign that you should just wash your hands of this whole sugar-baby thing once and for all. Get yourself a real boyfriend—or focus on your studies.” He offers, standing up to dump his plate in the sink. 

As soon as he’s is out of earshot, Jeonghan leans over the table to whisper, "Rule number one of being a sugar-baby: if they offer to buy you something— _take it._ Don’t turn it into a ‘You’re rich and I’m poor, why are we together’ drama. Just accept the gifts Jihoon—they won’t last forever.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “But he already spends a lot of money on me. Just this week he bought me a laptop.”

“Good— _he should._ Your laptop is shit.”

“And he pays me 2500 dollars a week. It’s more than I know what to do with.”

Jeonghan eyeballs him, then slams his glass down on the table with enough force for Jihoon to jump.

“2500 DOLLARS?! Jesus Christ—that’s more than I make in a month! What the hell are you complaining about Jihoon? 2500 dollars just to ride some dick and go to parties—you’re living the fucking dream!”

“ _Hannie_.” Jisoo drawls, censorious.

Jeonghan grins sheepishly. “I know you don’t like the whole Sugar-babying deal Shua, but not everyone’s parents can afford to pay for their studies. Some of us _need_ to rely on the kindness of handsome, rich strangers and Jihoon’s got a good thing going here—he’s hit the jackpot with this guy. Just think Jihoon—you play your cards right, you could finish college without a single ounce of debt. All you gotta do is keep this man happy.” He says, and smiles as though the problem is solved.

Jihoon frowns, leaning forward with his arms loosely crossed on top of the table.

“But, I don’t _want_ that from him. I don’t want him throwing money at me.”

Jeonghan waves a hand as if to brush away a philosophical debate he's had many times before. “ _Sure you do_. It’s what he’s _there_ for. That guy would do anything for you. All you have to do is ask. Hell—maybe if you complain to him about the bus schedules, he’ll buy you a car.”

“And that’s the point, Hannie. It’s called taking advantage of someone.” Jihoon huffs, frustration bubbling in his throat.

“Well it didn’t stop you from striking up a deal with the guy in the first place,” Jeonghan says with a shrug and leans back against his seat. “What’s changed?”

Jihoon closes his eyes and drops his head into his hands.

The whole financial aspect of their arrangement is precisely the reason Jihoon _is_ upset.

It's not that he objects to Seungcheol lusting after him (for the record: he really, really doesn't), but having it framed as if Seungcheol needs to spend money to earn Jihoon's permission is not in the least acceptable.

Seungcheol has given him concert tickets, baseball tickets, paid for the music department at his college to have a new studio decked out with the latest technology and called it corporate sponsorship. He’d deposited money into his checking account the day after he met him, and has continued to give him anything he wants since.

Jihoon’s been so caught up being friends with someone who could make the world do exactly what he wanted, he’s never even thought to say thanks most of the time.

It’s been intoxicating to be linked with Seungcheol, but somewhere along the way Jihoon’s realised that Seungcheol must think he’s a selfish teenager that needs to keep receiving gifts to be happy.

“Jihoon? I said, what’s changed?” Jeonghan repeats, and Jihoon can see his frustration.

He’s been listening to Jihoon moan about money problems for the better part of a year, his shitty laptop, his tuition, even the rent for this tiny yellow prison he calls a dorm room.

Jihoon closes his eyes, and thinks of Seungcheol. Seungcheol who would do anything for him if he asked for it. Jihoon can’t keep taking advantage of their friendship. He’s afraid of what it will do to them in the long run. He wants Seungcheol to know he doesn’t have to give him things to spend time with him.

“I have, Hannie. I’ve changed. I don’t want him thinking I’m with him for the money.”

Jeonghan just stares at him, a crease starting to form between his brows. “But that _is_ what you’re in it for Jihoon. Isn’t it? That’s why you meet up with him—why you’re _sleeping_ with him.”

“Not really.” Jihoon shrugs, feeling himself flush. His voice has gone thick with guilt and a familiar rush of all the wrong feelings. “I…..really like him.”

Jeonghan gives him a funny look, then an even funnier look, but at least the second seems vaguely sympathetic.

“ _Jihoonie_ —” Jeonghan says, reaching across the table and settling a hand on Jihoon's arm.

“Put that thought right out of your head.” Jisoo interrupts sternly, appearing at the side of the table, a dish cloth in his hands. “You can’t think of him like that. What you have with Seungcheol—is temporary.” He turns to Jeonghan and jerks his head pointedly. “Tell him, tell him it’s temporary.”

Something changes in Jeonghan's face, but Jihoon can't quite read what it is.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah he’s right. You shouldn’t get too attached Jihoon. It’s all going to end one day—don’t make it harder for yourself than it has to be.” He says with a quick smile that fades into something pensive and faintly troubled.

Jihoon isn’t completely happy with that for an answer, or an option.

Jeonghan may have had a few rides on the sugar-daddy train, but what he had barely resembles what Jihoon has now. Jihoon’s sugar daddy isn’t married for one, he’s not living a secret life on the side that Jihoon has no part of.

Seungcheol’s single. He’s kind, caring and devoted and….

Jihoon _sighs_.

And….he’ll make someone else very happy one day.  

* * *

 

Seungcheol pokes his head out of the bathroom when he hears the front door open, bow tie hanging loose around the collar of his tuxedo shirt.

“Cheol?” Jihoon calls out.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes affectionately and sighs.

He’d resigned himself to going to this thing alone in the end because he hadn’t managed to patch things up with Jihoon since their bust up.

And he was okay with that, okay with waiting for Jihoon to see sense, because he’ll be damned if he’ll chase after Jihoon one single step. That he won’t do. Not after that comment.

 _Stuck up_ —Seungcheol snorts at the memory.

Jihoon’s barb had been like a slap in the face.

Seungcheol had felt like he was being punished for having the means to treat his friends well and that’s just not fair.

So what if he bought Jihoon stuff. He just wanted Jihoon to be happy, and maybe money doesn’t buy happiness but it can sure make life more comfortable while you were waiting for happiness to show up.

The knock at the door is slightly more timid this time. “You still here?”

“I’m in the bathroom.” Seungcheol calls out, returning his attention to his reflection in the mirror.

He hears footsteps coming down the hall towards the bathroom, loud and hesitant at the same time.

“Oh, good. I thought I’d missed you.” Jihoon says, voice just outside the bathroom now.

“Almost did. I’m about to head out.” Seungcheol says, spritzing some cologne.

Jihoon appears in the periphery of his vision, hovering in the doorway. “Does that mean I’m too late to apologise?”

Seungcheol glances over, his mouth already open around some glib retort, when he gets a good look at Jihoon for the first time since he came in the door.

His mouth promptly shuts.

Then flaps open.

Then shuts.

Then—

“ _Jesus_.” Seungcheol doesn’t manage any more words after that. He just stands there, his eyes scraping up and down Jihoon’s suit.

This.  _This_  is not what he was expecting.  

Jihoon’s suit is midnight blue and very slightly shiny, just understated enough to catch the eye. The shirt underneath is a gorgeous black silk blend, neat around the waist and open at the collar, and the pants— _sweet fuck_ —the pants cradle Jihoon’s slim hips like sex itself.

He’s always imagined Jihoon would look precious in a little suit. But this makes Jihoon look like an adult. Hell, with his hair slicked back, it makes him look like a fashion model.

Seungcheol knows his mouth is gaping. His heart is an off-balance jackhammer of rhythm in his chest, and he doesn't know why. He just knows Jihoon is getting closer, is  _right there_ , looking expectantly at him, and Seungcheol can't figure out how to make his voice work.

He keeps on staring, silent and useless, until Jihoon clears his throat and begins speaking.

“I’m sorry Seungcheol. I feel like I’m saying that a lot recently—maybe because I’m completely out of my depth around you and keep reacting badly about it. But I shouldn’t have said those things in the car the other day. You’ve been nothing but generous with me—and you were right, I was throwing it back in your face because I was insecure. I guess I was trying to fit in with your lifestyle and when I found out I don’t fit so well it _frustrated_ me. But you don’t deserve grief over it—it’s my problem and…I’ll learn to deal with it.” Jihoon says quietly.

Seungcheol feels his chest tighten.

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jihoon sound so… _defeated_. He sounds older. Sad. Like he’s counting down to a deadline only he’s privy too.

Seungcheol wants to hug him and tell him it will be okay. But then Jihoon’s eyes finally meet his and Seungcheol sees the determination there.

“So—I got this suit, and I wanna go with you, if you still wanna take me. If you don’t I totally underst-……..Why are you looking at me like that?”

Seungcheol finally lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Sorry, it’s just. Holy shit—you look—that _suit_ ,” Seungcheol blurts out and watches Jihoon twitch self-consciously.

“Do you like it?” Jihoon says, turning around with a slight  _swish_  of fabric as the lining of his jacket rubs against his shirt, “I know it’s not super fancy, but I thought it was nice. And it—it matches yours.”

Seungcheol laughs softly, eye glued to the shift of fabric over Jihoon’s chest.

"You look—fucking amazing baby. C'mere," Seungcheol says, gesturing with his fingers.

Jihoon complies and moves to stand in front of him, his hands immediately reaching up and starting to wrap the folds of Seungcheol’s bow tie together.

When he’s finished, he smoothes his hands over the shoulders of Seungcheol's tux, palms warm even through the thick cloth. "Am I forgiven?"

"I don’t even remember what we were fighting about," Seungcheol grins, trying to lighten the moment.

Jihoon pouts. “I called you stuck-“

“Uh—uh.” Seungcheol tuts, touching a finger to Jihoon's lips, “Don’t _repeat_ it. I was giving you a chance to forget about the whole thing.”

When he pulls his hand away, Jihoon lets a shuddery breath out and looks him in the eye.

“You’re so handsome tonight Cheollie. I mean—you’re _always_ handsome But this _tux_ …looks awesome. And your ass is phenomenal in those pants, and, Jesus, your _shoulders_ …..” Jihoon stops to release a deep guttural noise from his throat. “I’m trying really hard not to climb you right now.”

Holy shit. Seungcheol didn't even think he looked all that. 

Talk about an ego boost. 

“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to go out and buy all the tux’s and wear them.” Seungcheol says, deadly serious.

Jihoon licks the curve of his ear and whispers, “You fucking better.”  

Seungcheol groans lowly, grips Jihoon’s hips and pulls him even closer. Definitely hard.

He’s having some serious second thoughts about going to the event like this. About going to the event at all, really, when he could just throw Jihoon on the bed and –

Seungcheol chases that thought with a small cough, to steady his voice. "At any rate, we should be going."

"Yeah." Jihoon doesn't move, though, but stands up on his tip toes and presses their mouths together.

It's a slow, shallow kiss, Jihoon's mouth only slightly parts under his, tongue coming out to briefly brush Seungcheol’s lips. Seungcheol feels that touch in his entire body. Too much.

Regretfully, he holds Jihoon at arm's length, amazed with his ability to suppress his own erratic libido.

"Can't let ourselves get distracted now, or we’ll never leave." Seungcheol says, sealing himself into the charming persona he wears at work. He gestures at the open door, signalling for Jihoon to walk ahead of him. "Come along, dumpling."

Jihoon tilts his head and narrows his eyes, but strolls out of the bathroom and down the corridor—with perhaps a little more sway in his hips than necessary.

 _That boy is going to be the death of me_ —Seungcheol thinks.

* * *

 

The party’s venue is on a massive estate, stretching across a beautiful acre of land outside the city. The entire place is lit up, a thousand lanterns breathing soft yellow. 

“You know,” Seungcheol says, smoky and low, looking Jihoon over as he steps out of the car. “I said it once and I’ll say it again, you could wear a brown paper bag and make it look like the hottest thing ever. But _those_ pants are lethal.”

“Yeah, well, you can thank Jeonghan for that,” Jihoon says, making sure he stays a step ahead of Seungcheol, so he can appreciate the view a little more, “He helped me pick em.”

“Jeonghan is a saint,” Seungcheol says, ogling Jihoon’s ass. “I owe him my life.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jihoon says, trying to put some bite into it despite the fact that he can’t stop smiling. It’s kind of a problem.

They’re barely through the doors before some business partner or another of Seungcheol’s toddles up to him to make small talk, and Jihoon is left on his own.

Which is fine. Jihoon expected as much; it’s a business function after all.  

The only problem is—Seungcheol has neglected to tell him what people actually  _do_ at these events. So Jihoon spends the first half an hour standing in a corner trying to hide behind a curtain, looking vaguely terrified.

Though it soon becomes clear that what people do at these events is stand around a lot, and drink, and occasionally chuckle at lame ass jokes.

It’s really quite boring.

A few minutes pf psyching himself up later, he ventures out of his alcove for a drink that one of the servers are carting around the room.

He doesn't intend to drink it—he just wants something to hold, it seems the thing to do-

"Hello."

Jihoon jumps and very nearly ends up in the curtain.

A hand steadies him. A hand that belongs to a very amused looking Mingyu.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Mingyu grins. “I just noticed you loitering in the corner here, thought I’d say Hi.”

"I wasn’t loitering," Jihoon says belligerently. “I was _admiring_ the view.”

“Of the curtains?”

“Yes. They’re very nice curtains.” Jihoon says loftily.

Mingyu looks sympathetic.

“It’s okay—I don’t know what to do at these things either.” Mingyu says out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh—thank god. I was beginning to feel like a total fraud here. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.” Jihoon tells him, making sure his voice doesn't carry. It feels remarkably good to be honest, and even better that he’s not the only one feeling completely out of his depth.

“I’d like to say it gets easier with time—but I’ve been to hundreds of these things and I’ve never got the hang of it. Seungcheol says it’s good for me to be here, to _schmooze_ with the bigwigs. But honestly—” Mingyu takes a long slow sip of his champagne and lowers his voice. “I just spend most of the time fake laughing and avoiding getting groped.”

“What? Really?” Jihoon asks, not out of concern, but curiosity. “I didn’t think this was that kind of place.”

“Uh— _please_. A room full of rich, married businessmen and free flowing alcohol,” Mingyu loses his composure for just long enough to laugh. “This is _just_ that kind of place. You wait and see—once they catch sight of you, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

Jihoon fights back a shudder, his eyes sweeping over the people around them. “But I’m here with Seungcheol.”

Mingyu scoffs. “Oh, they don’t care. Most of the men here are window shopping—if you know what I mean.”

Jihoon has absolutely no idea what he means. But he finds out, ten minutes later.

“Well—hello there.” A man says from somewhere at Jihoon’s right.

The man’s shorter and heavier than Seungcheol, wearing a poorly-fitting suit and clashing tie; from the side, he has a big nose and fat lips, and he looks shady, like a used car salesman. Something about him gives Jihoon a bad feeling.

“Hello.” Jihoon says, smiling as genially as possible. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Jihoon.”

“Delighted.” The man purrs, eyes hooded and flirtatious as he accepts Jihoon’s handshake. “I’m Shin Wonho, CEO of WonK-Com.”

Jihoon blinks. “Oh, wow. Really? That’s my cell-phone provider.”

Wonho's gaze fastens on him more intently. “Uh, huh. Yes, well—you don't have a drink, here let me get you one." He reaches out into the throng of party-goers, and acquires him a drink from one of the trays that has, miraculously, seemed to sweep close just for that purpose.

Wonho settles the glass in Jihoon’s hand, then smiles at him, in a rather disturbing way, until he takes a drink.

“You arrived with Seungcheol, right?” Wonho asks, eyeing him curiously.

As far as Jihoon can tell, there’s nothing but idle curiosity in the question, but he can't be certain it isn't something sharper and more dangerous, something that only masquerades as idle curiosity. He'd never been very good at reading people.

“Yeah, uhm—yeah.” Jihoon smiles, moving the flute he is holding in his hand in tiny circles, making the champagne swirl within.

What exactly does one do in this sort of situation? Be polite? Be distant? Be welcoming yet reserved? He doesn’t exactly have the experience or the vocabulary to partake in a lengthy discussion about business or economics or being filthy fucking rich, but he would like to try.

Turns out he doesn’t have to say much, as the man isn’t interested in conversation. No, he’s much more interested in raking his gaze down Jihoon’s frame, a hungry look in his eyes as he leans in to whisper. “How much?”

“Huh?”

“For the night.” Wonho clarifies.

Jihoon stares at Wonho and blinks, replaying what the man just said in his mind in order to be sure he heard right. 

He considers the vast array of meanings that question could have, and eventually he decides on the most likely scenario.

Jihoon really doesn’t have an answer for that that isn’t a punch in the face, so he gulps down the rest of his drink in one swallow, hands Wonho back the empty glass and walks away.

* * *

 

Jihoon leans against the bar and drains his glass. The burn is smooth. He asks for another.

He can’t remember if he is supposed to _sip_ Scotch or not.

It doesn’t seem to matter at this point.

“What do we have _here_.” A voice purrs in his ear.

Jihoon snaps his head to the side to find a man leaning on the bar next to him, a fraction too close from comfort. He’s blonde and broad shouldered, and has the tanlines of a ring around his third finger. His smile reminds Jihoon of a well-sharpened knife.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Jihoon asks, accepting his refill from the bartender. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Choi Seungcheol bring anyone to these parties.” The man says grandly, waving his glass about. “Impressive that _you_ made it on his arm—you must be _special_.”

Jihoon ignores the man and takes a cautious sip of his drink. He’s already knocked back two of these bad boys, and he really needs to pace himself if he doesn’t want to get drunk and make a scene.

The blonde eyes him over the rim of his glass and smirks. “A scotch? That’s _cute_. Are you trying to look grown up in front of _Daddy_?”

Jihoon spine straightens with surprise; he hadn't exactly planned on giving that away, but he must standout somehow.

What looks like genuine amusement flares up in the Blonde’s eyes, there for a heartbeat and then gone. He taps the side of his nose and looks out amongst the crowd. “You think a suit and a scotch are going to make you blend in here, think again. You’re like a candle in a coalmine Kid, everyone knows what you are.”

There is a slow burn in Jihoon’s chest and his head feels lighter than air.

He sets his glass down when he notices his hand is shaking. He can’t imagine _why_. His headache suddenly seems like just the beginning of an endless series of headaches that are stretching out ahead of him and he wonders what Blondie would say if he threw up on his Gucci shoes.

“Jesus. What’s with the Jailbait?” Another man says, sliding up to join them. He’s a bit taller, a bit older, with dark stubble and shattering blue eyes

“This is Jihoon—I believe,” The Blonde answers for him, drawling Jihoon's name just shy of mocking. “Choi Seungcheol’s _squeeze_.”

“Hmm.” Blue Eyes hums, running his eyes over Jihoon in a manner that is frankly dismissive. “Not really my type. I like my meal to be a little more—substantial.”

Jihoon feels dumbfounded by the conversation happening around him, but he steadies himself, not sure which one of them he thought would benefit the most from being punched in the face.

“Well, he’s definitely mine. And if it’s good enough for Choi Seungcheol, it’s good enough for me.” Blonde says, staring somewhere in the general vicinity of Jihoon’s chin.

Blue eyes snorts. “So tell us, _Jihoom_ —what do you do when you’re not doing Seungcheol?”

Jihoon stumbles, taken aback by being addressed so directly after being talked about like he wasn’t even there, and he has to consciously relax his jaw before he can speak.

“It’s _Jihoon_ —not Jihoom.”

“Apologies. It’s hard to keep track of the latest candy on the market.” The man laughs. They both laugh—actually. It feels like the entire room is laughing at him.

For the first time since he’s been with Seungcheol, he feels like an escort out with a client.

He feels cheap.

 _I have to get out of here_ , Jihoon thinks.

He considers running out of there—just running all the way back to his dorm—but he refuses to let a bunch of arrogant assholes bully him into leaving a party, like some really fucked up version of middle school.

He wanders around the mansion instead, accepting glass after glass of champagne from the ubiquitous wait staff, only to set them down again still full. The last thing he wants to do is get drunk around a bunch of lecherous weirdos.

He considers texting Seungkwan and inviting him to this ridiculous mansion party to pick up his own sugar-daddy, but Seungkwan doesn’t have a car and he’s pretty sure there is no city bus that would come here. He considers texting Jisoo or Jeonghan, but Jisoo’s already made his position very clear on the whole him and Seungcheol thing, and Jihoon’s really not in the mood for another lecture from Jeonghan which ends in him getting told to ‘suck it up’.

He looks for Seungcheol, hoping he can convince him to leave early, but when Jihoon spots him—the man is surrounded by a smiling group of businessmen who seem to be utterly absorbed by something he’s saying. 

Seungcheol’s face is fixed in an intense expression, but when he spots Jihoon--he gives him a sudden, unexpectedly bright smile, like his day has been completely made just by seeing him.

Jihoon beams back, doubts evaporating like steam, amazed that in a room full of people, Seungcheol can still make him feel as if he’s the only one there that matters.

Jihoon convinces himself to hang in there just a little bit longer—for Seungcheol’s sake. This is his  _job,_  and he’ll be damned if he can’t keep his shit together and suck it up for a few hours.

So, he finds a place to stand, as far away from hungry eyes as possible, and waits for the evening to end.

* * *

 

It’s not long before Jihoon’s peace is disturbed again, by Wonho—who suddenly appears at his side. He snags a champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray while Jihoon waits, wary; he knows these silences—they never last.

“So, Jihoon….” Wonho begins, looking at the pale liquid in his flute. He tilts his head in Jihoon’s direction before he surreptitiously gestures at where Seungcheol is standing a little ways away, chatting with a client. “What kind of arrangement do you two have?”

“It’s none of your business.” Jihoon grits out, molars grinding down hard against each other.

“Oh?” Comes the curious response, eyes darting from Jihoon to Seungcheol and back. “But if I don’t know what he’s paying you, how can I offer something better?”

Jihoon draws in a calming breath.

“Look—I’m not interested. I’m here with Seungcheol, so please—leave me alone.” He says in as polite a tone as he can manage.

Wonho leans in close, lip curling upward in a crude parody of a smile.  “I don’t think you’ve considered my offer properly. I’m not asking you to do anything you probably haven’t already. And whatever he’s paying—I’ll _double_ it.” He whispers, the heat in his eyes apparent. “I know you’ll look very pretty on my sheets.”

Jihoon feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him.

“No.” he simply says, sick to death of these men and their leering gazes.

It's almost a relief, actually, to know that he still has standards, that he's not completely without boundaries anymore. Yeah, Seungcheol has stepped all the way out to every single line Jihoon had drawn and erased them, but it seems like Jihoon drew them again, from the inside.

Or something like that.

“Excuse me, I have to go look for someone.” Jihoon says, stepping away and hating himself for the tremor in his voice.

He makes to move around Wonho and into the crowd, but the man yanks him back with a bruising grip.

Stunned, Jihoon can only gape at him.

“No?” Wonho echoes resentfully. “Nobody says no to--”

“Hoonie, there you are.” Seungcheol says, appearing suddenly.

Jihoon has never been so grateful to see him, because for a minute he thought he'd have to fake some sort of horrible seizure to escape.

The man immediately retracts his hand from Jihoon’s wrist, expression smoothing out into the look of barest disdain.

“Fantastic evening Choi as usual,” He grins, eyes kept on Jihoon. “Just having a very… _illuminating_  conversation with your friend here. Well, that’s it, then. Good talk.” He turns and disappears back into the crowd.

Jihoon lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

The last thing he wants is to have to _explain_ this situation to Seungcheol.

When Jihoon chances a glance at Seungcheol, there’s a deep frown on his face. “What was that about?” he asks, and Jihoon shrugs.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry.” He manages modestly.

Seungcheol studies him for a long moment. “Alright. You ready to go? I think I’ve shown my face enough and I’d really like to get you somewhere private.” He grins and bumps his shoulder against Jihoon’s in a show of friendly affection.

Jihoon has to muster up more strength than he thought he would need to send Seungcheol a weak smile in answer.

His poor performance does little to fool Seungcheol however, who’s eyes turn searching and speculative on his for a brief second, before darting to the direction Wonho disappeared in.

“Are you sure you’re—”

“Come on. Take me home.” Jihoon interjects.

All he wants is for them to get out of here, far away from probing eyes and fingers that look too ready to reach out and touch.

* * *

 

Jihoon is relieved to be leaving, but the relief is tinged with an unease he can’t shake.

Seungcheol’s smile is too bright, too big as he makes excuses for leaving early—Jihoon can see it straining at the edges. His hand is polite at the small of Jihoon’s back, not lingering or flirtatious. He doesn’t lean into Jihoon, doesn’t whisper anything scandalous or conspiratorial as they press through the crowd towards the exit. But he does catch Jihoon’s hand once they’re outside, presses a kiss to knuckles as they wait for the valet to bring the car around.

Jihoon’s so distracted on the journey back to the apartment, he hardly notices Seungcheol’s pulled the car over until a hand rests on his leg.

Jihoon turn to look at Seungcheol, blinking.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” Seungcheol says, skimming his thumb over the rise and hollow of Jihoon’s knee. “Even though I hardly got to enjoy your company, catching glimpses of you in the crowd made it all bearable for me.”

Jihoon swallows, feeling the air thicken in his throat. “Yeah, I mean. It’s fine. Coming to stuff like this is what I’m here for, right?”

Seungcheol looks at him, something heavy settling into the fold of his eyebrows. “What did he say to you?”

Jihoon’s hand freezes from where he is fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. “Who?” he hedges, hand resuming movement with a barely perceptible jerk. He is sure that Seungcheol spots it anyway, so fucking observant.

“You were upset when I came to get you—” Seungcheol says, quiet steel in his voice. He shifts in his seat, to face Jihoon from behind the wheel. “What did he say to you?”

Jihoon swallows past a sudden tightness in his throat. His hands clench into fists on his lap.

“Nothing.” He rejoins, cracking a smile that he knows is just shy of brittle.

"You're a terrible liar, Jihoonie." Seungcheol says, voice surprisingly gentle.

There's something too close to pity in the way he says Jihoon's name. The sound of it prickles along Jihoon's skin and heats his face with fresh shame. He glares straight ahead through the windshield and tries to ignore the weight of Seungcheol's stare.

“Jihoon—tell me.”

Jihoon swallows again and shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal—can we just go.”

Seungcheol’s not buying it this time—not even for a second. He continues to stare at Jihoon, the gaze weighty and considering, eyes hidden in the dark shadows of the Busan night.

Jihoon runs a tired hand down his face, the first concession of the day that he makes towards the entire clusterfuck of an evening.

“If you _must_ know—he was asking me about our _arrangement_. He offered to double what you were paying because,” Jihoon pauses and licks his lips to moisten them, taking the moment to search for courage. _“I know you’d look real pretty on my sheets.”_ He mimics with a shudder.

The silence that settles over the car is as palpable as the aftershock of a nuclear blast.

Seungcheol’s response is quick and rapier-sharp; he shifts the car into gear, hits the accelerator, and pulls the car into the road.

Jihoon crosses his arms and looks resolutely out of the passenger side window, swallowing convulsively. He doesn’t say anything until he starts paying attention to the buildings flashing by and realizes—they’re going in the wrong direction.

They’re going back the way they came.

“Cheol?” Jihoon’s voice is shaking. He doesn’t know what to say. “What are you doing? Where are you driving?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer him. He just shifts gears and accelerates again, and Jihoon feels the car thunder to life under him.

It’s clear now they’re heading back towards the party, back towards Wonho so Seungcheol can…do _God_ knows what.

“Oh my god, we’re not going back are we? _Cheol_? What are you going to do?” Jihoon tries again, verging on panic.

Seungcheol keeps his eyes straight ahead, his focus on the road, his hands knuckle-white on the wheel.

Something very wrong is about to happen, and Jihoon doesn’t know how to stop it. But the gnawing sense of dread in his stomach makes him try anyway.

He leans over the gearstick and grips Seungcheol’s shoulder, finding it tense under his fingers.

“Cheol— _please_.” There's a sob lodged somewhere in Jihoon's chest. Threatening, choking him, making it impossible to draw a real breath. “Please stop. I don’t want to go back.”

Seungcheol gives him a swift look, then grits his teeth as he slams the breaks, whipping the steering wheel in a spilt-second insane decision. The car donuts across the empty road, tires screeching and dust billowing as it comes to a miraculous stop on the hard shoulder.

Jihoon collapses back against the seat and takes a few deep breaths, trying to claw back something in the way of control.

It isn't really working.

“Cheol—don’t be angry—" Jihoon begins. But Seungcheol is already killing the engine, shoving the door open and jumping out—leaving the car quiet and still.

Jihoon's not expecting his sudden departure, so he ends up blinking out the driver’s side window, watching as Seungcheol jumps the fence and disappears along the dusty, gradual incline on the other side.

* * *

 

Seungcheol is a long time returning to the car, and when he climbs back into the driver's seat he's wearing a forced façade of casual calm. His movements are careful and tense, and he looks so tired that it breaks Jihoon’s heart a little.

Jihoon expects Seungcheol to start the car after getting in, but instead he just sits there, staring through the windshield, his hands unmoving on the steering wheel.

There's the real threat of hysterics twisting in Jihoon's chest, and he quiets himself with difficulty. His feelings are all sharp edges and sandpaper behind his ribs, and it takes him a long time to collect coherent words.

"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything." Jihoon murmurs. “I ruined your evening.”

Seungcheol's laugh is a grating, painful sound that makes Jihoon flinch. “ _You’re_ apologising for ruining _my_ evening? Some asshole treats you like crap and _you_ apologise? That’s messed up Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s voice softens with ill-concealed emotion when he offers, “But I did. You were happy before I said anything. Now you’re angry with me.”

He doesn't dare look at Seungcheol. The man hasn't taken his hands off the steering wheel once through this wretched conversation, and his knuckles are white from the tight grip he still holds around hard leather.

“I’m not pissed with you Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, venting out a long, gravelly sigh. He rubs a hand over his face, closing his eyes as his fingers dig into his brow bone. “I’m pissed because some asshole spoke to you like that. I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me at the time, so I could have set the man straight or at least knocked his teeth it. I’m pissed that I’m a fucking idiot, because I left you to fend for yourself in a room full of sleazy cunts. I _knew_ what those assholes were like—but I didn’t think twice about bringing you. All I wanted was to satisfy my own selfish need to have you nearby.”

“Oh god, it’s not your fault. I’m used to it Cheol.” Jihoon says, quiet and painful.

Seungcheol opens his eyes and stares at him, his whole face is a question mark as Jihoon speaks again.

“I’m used to creepy men saying gross things to my all the time online. I usually handle it better, but it just came as a shock because it’s never been face to face before.”

Seungcheol only shakes his head, stubbornness in the gesture and determination in the tight line of his jaw.

“I don’t want you to get used to anyone talking to you like that. I don’t like the idea of you tolerating that shit online either, but I’ve accepted that it comes with the territory of your online persona. But in person, in real life— _nobody_ has the fucking right to talk to you like that. You’re not a possession that can be bought or bartered, you’re a human being. If some creep touches you—if anyone says _anything_ that makes you uncomfortable—you tell me. I will _destroy_ them.”

His eyes are ridiculously sincere and it is all Jihoon can do to not lean forward and rest his forehead against Seungcheol’s and just  _breathe_  there, let the horrible moment drain away;

“People are assholes in real life too Cheol.” Jihoon counters, voice heavy with frustration. He sits back, turning his gaze towards the window. “They say awful things and do awful things and a lot of the time there’s nothing anybody can do about it. Being with you has set my expectations so high that I forget not everyone is going to be as sweet and patient and gentlemanly. I don’t want to get used to that—cause you’re not always going to be around to protect me.” Jihoon finishes with a murmur, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice.

He stills, inhaling sharply when Seungcheol lifts a hand to cup his jaw.

"Don’t say that," Seungcheol says, his thumb brushing against the corner of Jihoon's mouth. His voice is raspy and warm, several degrees removed from the low, cool tones he'd been using up until now. "We’re not on some deadline here Jihoon. There’s no finish line for this. I’m not going anywhere."

Jihoon feels his breath catch in his throat.

Somewhere inside he is _aching_. God, Seungcheol makes it sound so casual, this business of hanging around to indulge him. Like Seungcheol has just accepted it as his due in life, but Jihoon knows better.

It’s anything but casual for him.

Jihoon grabs Seungcheol’s wrist and holds his arm in place, finding himself quite abruptly at the end of his rope.

"You can’t say stuff like that, Cheol," he says, his voice little more than a harsh whisper. "Just—stop."

Something flares up in Seungcheol's eyes then, dark and fierce and defiant, taking Jihoon's breath away; Seungcheol twists his arm free and cups Jihoon's face in his hands, leaning in, his mouth hard and sure and hot against Jihoon's.

Jihoon gasps into the kiss, his hands coming up between them, fluttering like birds against Seungcheol's chest before turning into claws, grasping at his shirt, his shoulders—tugging at him, pulling him in.

The slide of their mouths is slick and wet, and it’s too much and not enough, having Seungcheol so close; the scrape of his stubble, the warm scent of his skin—Jihoon wants to bury his nose against Seungcheol’s neck, chase the faint traces of cologne and cigarettes there, wants to never come up for air that doesn't make him think of Seungcheol.

 _No, not like this_  --

Jihoon pushes Seungcheol back, pressing himself against the passenger door when Seungcheol makes a bereft noise low in his throat and tries to move in again.

"Cheol," Jihoon says, and winces at how wrecked he sounds already. "Cheol, I mean it, don't—don't say that if you don't mean it, if it's just to make me feel better--"

"I’m not just saying it," Seungcheol says, pressing his thumb roughly against Jihoon's cheekbone, his other hand coming to cup the back of his head, holding on too tight. "Jihoon, I swear to you."

Jihoon wants to believe him, wants to believe they are on the same page here; he wavers, and the moment he stops holding Seungcheol back, Seungcheol leans over the gearstick and takes possession of his mouth again.

Jihoon, conflicted and desperate, melts into it, a surge of hope rising within him, threatening to choke him.

“Not going anywhere. You hear me?” Seungcheol is soothing him, touching him, brushing back his hair. He leans close and nips Jihoon's ear. His voice is low and deep. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jihoon just nods breathlessly against Seungcheol's neck a flash of arousal running through his system, hyper-sensitizing his skin.

"Cheol, come on," he says, his fingers clumsy with desire as he tugs at his seatbelt. Seungcheol is hot and solid against him, and he can't remember the last time he's wanted someone this much.

Seungcheol continues to kiss and lick and whisper in and around his ear, “You aren’t going to be able to wait till we get back, are you dumpling?”

“No. Can’t wait.” Jihoon whines. “Need you to fuck me, don’t care how, just now. Put— _yeah_.”

He’s babbling and mouthing at Seungcheol, messy and wanting so much, and he’s sure he sees Seungcheol sneak a hand down between his legs.

There’s not enough room in the car, not even when Seungcheol puts back the seat and Jihoon flattens himself on top of him so he doesn’t jostle against the horn, and then Seungcheol is hauling him out, kissing him against the hood.

“Be good for me, yeah? Just a—” Seungcheol’s muttering while he goes riffling through his pockets, Jihoon grinding into him the instant he finds what he’s looking for, letting Seungcheol yank down his pants and turn him over with his hands splayed and sweaty over the hood.

He yelps when Seungcheol works one thick finger inside him, smearing fingerprints into the warm metal.

He isn’t sure if it’s sexy or hilarious that Seungcheol actually has lube packets on him; it leaves Jihoon wondering if that’s just responsibility at its finest or if it means Seungcheol was planning on getting frisky mid party.

Seungcheol fingers him on his back. Jihoon’s pants are around his ankles, bunching at the back of Seungcheol’s neck, and at first he’s completely preoccupied with trying not to slip off the hood and make a fool of himself.

When Seungcheol pulls out his fingers and nudges the tip of his cock against him, Jihoon nearly  _does_  forget to hold himself in place. His muscles mutiny, his shoes go sliding off, falling to the ground, and his pants and underwear follow not long afterward.

Both his legs are draped over Seungcheol’s strong shoulders, his shirt pushed up under his armpits, his palms squeaking against the metal, and when Seungcheol pushes inside it’s all he can do not to shout out and risk alerting a coyote or a cop or whatever the fuck might be out there.

Seungcheol is still clothed, only undressed enough to fuck him—pants low, shirt bunched partway up his stomach, cock shoving inside him, and it’s too rough and too big and too  _much_  and Jihoon hears himself sobbing even though he’s trying to relax and take more and  _not_  fuck this up.

Seungcheol notices, smoothing back Jihoon’s hair and pulling out almost entirely despite his protests. And he talks, telling Jihoon he’s taking it so nicely, that he’s perfect all spread out and coming undone like this, but then he goes still and won’t move until Jihoon wraps his arms around him and asks for more.

“Move for me again,” Seungcheol murmurs into his ear, holding him steady. “Yeah—just like that, perfect.” and Jihoon obeys every last word and drives himself down on his cock and whines up at the sky like he’s incapable of anything else.

Seungcheol kisses his face, strokes over the dip at his hip, telling him not to come yet because he wants to taste him—Jihoon swears and very nearly does the opposite—and then Seungcheol kneels to take Jihoon’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh-fuck! Cheol!”

It’s only a matter of seconds before Jihoon shivers and spills into his throat.

 _Beautiful_ , _Perfect, Mine,_ Seungcheol calls him, and Jihoon can see the flex of his arm as he finishes himself off there on his knees, on the road.

Even though they’ve just desecrated the side of the highway, a car, a few public indecency laws, Seungcheol somehow manages to be a perfect gentleman. He helps Jihoon to the ground, gathers up his clothes, and shepherds him to the car once he finishes pulling his pants on.

Jihoon lets himself collapse sideways in the backseat in a puddle of sated, grateful relief.

“You’ve ruined me Cheol,” Jihoon says, granting him the truth. He grabs one of Seungcheol’s hands, turns his head, letting his lips brush against Seungcheol’s wrist, drunk on the scent of his skin. “You’ve ruined me for other men.”

Seungcheol murmurs a response, too quiet for Jihoon to make out, but he's pretty sure it ends with "dumpling."

The last thing Jihoon feels before sleep overtakes him is the sensation of a jacket being draped over his shoulders and a warm hand gently combing once through his hair.

* * *

 

“Good. Because you’re _mine_ , dumpling.”  Seungcheol murmurs, stroking his fingers through Jihoon’s sweaty locks.

He shuts the car door and leans against it, breathing hard and feeling abruptly like a hypocrite.

He doesn’t linger on the thought though, because Jihoon _does_ belong to him.

Jihoon isn’t property to buy, or stocks he can acquire—but he belongs to Seungcheol all the same.

Seungcheol meant everything he’d said.

He’s not going anywhere. He’s staying in Busan for the foreseeable future and he’s going to make _damn_ sure Jihoon stays a part of his life.

* * *

 

Seungcheol stands looking out of his office window and wonders what exactly he hopes to accomplish by doing this.

Revenge? Making enemies? Sending a message?

They don’t sound like good reasons to destroy someone’s livelihood over.

There’s certainly no financial benefit from this either, because he’s seen the numbers and he knows the profit, if any, is minimal.

So, really—it’s a no brainer.

That does not explain, then, why he finds himself putting together the plans to take over a largely stable Telecommunications company, with a view of dismantling it—tearing it to the ground. 

“I don’t get it—there’s no profit to be made here. What’s your financial motivation?” Jun says, reviewing the plans laid out on the desk.

“Let’s just say—I’m protecting my interests.” Seungcheol says, turning to face a bemused Jun and worried looking Mingyu.  

He knows how ridiculous it sounds.

He hasn't reached the top of his game by being thick. He knows when to push forward or to back off; he knows when he is in over his head and when he is one step away from finishing his goal.

But, that had been before ... before he’d started to understand what it meant to care about someone, what it meant to have someone look up to you and care about you, even when you weren’t perfect.

“But, between you and me, and this can’t leave this office,” He adds, sliding into his seat and kicking his feet up on the desk. “I just don’t like the guy and I want him to lose his company.”

Mingyu grins and Jun snorts his coffee.

“Alright. You’re the boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Sorry that wasn't super filthy. But I thought I'd focus on some character development and strengthen their relationship before adding more filth :))  
> 2) Some ref pics,  
> [here](https://twitter.com/havoktreeftw/status/1013228526164762624)....because tumblr was playing up and wouldn't allow me to link :(  
> I had the idea for Jihoon going suit shopping after that pic of Jihoon looking precious in a suit appeared on twitter. I imagine Cheol would think Jihoon would look precious, then he would be blow away when Jihoon looks sleek and drop dead gorgeous instead :D Also...Cheol in that pic!  
> 3) I got a list of kinks in the comments from the previous update and I'll do my best to include them in the upcoming updates. I defo want more camboy action...and maybe Cheol contributes to a video.....  
> 4) Hope you enjoy the update! Feedback always appreciated.


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